II
Lion, Iris, and Dove
WOW this is a monster of a chapter! Sorry it took so long to update, I didn't' want to rush it because it wouldn't come out the way I wanted it to. I know it kind of has a slow start, but I promise I have great plans for this, it will be very eventful and take twists and turns so just bear with me through the beginning! The next chapter won't be this long, just so I can update sooner. Let me know what you think ;3
At the crack of dawn, Margaery woke from a pleasant nights rest, to get a head start for the day. She read poetry by the window and watched the morning sun rise up over the bay, casting a golden stream over the water. These past few days in paradise had been treating her well.
After washing up and dressing, she decided to take her poetry out to the garden so she could read before breakfast in the fresh air among the flowers.
After some time of reading on a bench by a rosebush, she got bored and decided to explore the garden further. She ventured off towards a more vacant area, shaded with tall, swaying trees and picked her way through the brambles, careful to avoid the thorns. There, in the rotunda gazebo under the shade of a towering willow, she spotted a beautiful, young, red-haired girl, gazing out at the pond.
Margaery curiously approached her, and the girl looked over at the sound of her footsteps. Her icy blue eyes flashed with caution but she offered a smile.
"Hello," she greeted politely, and Margaery noticed how nice her smile was. The dress she wore seemed a bit upscale, so Margaery guessed she was either living in the Red Keep or in the upper-class district just outside the palace.
"What are you doing all the way out here?" Margaery said, allowing a warmness to cling to her tone. She was curious about this girl.
Their gaze locked for a heartbeat before the redhead averted her eyes shyly.
"I just like the serenity out here," she answered, gazing back out to the pond. "Or maybe I just like the distance from..." she looked back in the direction of the castle strangely, "all that."
Margaery thought that was a bit odd and wasn't exactly sure with what this girl meant by that. Maybe she just didn't like to be around a lot of people. Maybe she liked nature. Margaery was intrigued and wondered about her for a moment before the girl was suddenly speaking again.
"My name is Sansa Stark, from Winterfell," she curtsied politely, "And you?"
"Lady Margaery. House Tyrell of Highgarden. Pleased to meet you," Margaery curtsied as well.
"I've heard many stories about the beauty of Highgarden," Sansa beamed.
"Oh yes, it's quite breathtaking, even after living there my whole life," Margaery said. "Leaving home is always difficult, but I was willing to leave behind everything to become the queen."
Oddly enough, an aching expression seemed to cross Sansa's beautiful features as Margaery spoke the last part. She couldn't imagine why, though.
"How do you like it here? Is it everything you've hoped for?" The red-haired girl inquired. She was remarkably beautiful, quite young, and so tall Margaery had to look up to meet her wide innocent eyes. They had started to walk back towards the castle, but a different way than Margaery had initially come.
"I've always dreamed of seeing the capital, it's everything I've imagined and more," Margaery replied delightfully, as they crossed under an array white archways, woven with gnarled vines and azure flowers. A cloud uncovered the sun and a stream of light cast in fragments through the vines, illuminating the Stark girl's fair features and fiery hair.
"And life in the castle?" Sansa edged on and Margaery met her searching blue eyes while they walked.
Margaery wondered what she was getting at. What does she want me to tell her about? The delicious feasts, endless pampering, servants, and all the wine you can drink? Then it hit her. Joffrey. Though, he was a hot topic for 'life in the castle,' Margaery was not about to mention him until the other girl brought him up first.
"It's just like a fairy tale, Sansa. An absolute dream come true," Margaery sighed contently, reassuring her as she waited for the true question, while the two followed the stone path circling around the glorious lion fountain.
"And the king?" Sansa finally asked as they walked, just as Margaery anticipated she would.
"Gorgeous as ever, isn't he?" Margaery said nonchalantly, trying to coax the amused smile off her face.
Sansa gave her a baffled look before a twinge of pink cursed her cheeks. "Well, yes, I suppose..." the younger girl averted her eyes. "Though, he's got quite the temper."
"Yes, perhaps if you're stupid," Margaery said sharply, her words surprising Sansa. Then she smiled, "I have yet to be reprimanded."
"Consider yourself lucky," Sansa retorted below her breath.
The ill words spoke of Joffrey, simmered with Margaery, and she grew defensive.
"You dare speak against your king?" she challenged, impressed with how loyal the words sounded leaving her tongue. She then wondered if Sansa was speaking generally or from personal experience.
"No!" Sansa cried, looking mortified. "The king is ever so gracious and noble," she insisted.
Margaery couldn't even try to hide the amused smirk that tugged on her mouth. Gracious and noble. Anyone with morals could see King Joffrey was...not exactly those things.
"I was supposed to wed the king," Sansa suddenly blurted, and Margaery halted at once to cast her a look of surprise, the thought of Joffrey being with anyone else stung her. Sansa suddenly looked deeply apologetic as if it came out wrong. "I mean, I'm glad you took my place!" she scrambled to find her words. "You'll make him much happier."
She's absolutely right. She's definitely not Joffrey's type. Margaery thought cattily as she surveyed the younger girl, but then felt a twinge of pity as she imagined the upset that came with traveling a long, tired way to the capital only to find she's been replaced as the future queen consort. Couldn't be me.
"If you are no longer to wed him, then why stay in King's Landing?" Margaery questioned with genuine curiosity. They had stopped in a shaded area under a beautiful scarlet oak tree, it's leaves were vibrant as blood.
"I pray every night to go home to Winterfell. Queen Cersei tells me they are arranging for me to marry someone else. Perhaps a different member of the royal family," Sansa let out a pained sigh.
Margaery was starting to feel genuine sympathy for this girl. She could see how it pained her to be here in the south. But there was nothing more to do than keep moving forward.
"You must not worry, sweet girl. You can have a luxurious life here in the capital, you must be thoughtful and use your resources wisely," Margaery advised her, "We'll be seeing each other plenty, perhaps we can even be friends."
Sansa's blue eyes glistened delightfully at the idea. "I would love that."
Meanwhile, in the upstairs corridors, bright with the early daylight, Cersei made her way to the royal chambers, the most heavily guarded wing of the Red Keep. Upon entering the king's private quarters, she found her son still sound asleep.
What a perfect little angel, she smiled at her undoubtedly favorite child, who was peacefully tucked under the covers. Rays of light bled through the artistic, iron window, catching gold speckles of dust floating through the room, which glowed like amber.
Her long golden locks shimmered, as she ducked under the canopy adorned on his massive, royal bed, and sat in the shadows like a lioness, on the edge of the duvet, overlooking her cub.
"Rise and shine, my love," Cersei murmured as she ran a loving hand down the side of his face, his skin was warm and reddened with heavy sleep.
Joffrey's only response was an irritated groan. He pulled the silk duvet over his head.
"You must get up, Joff," Cersei's pleading tone was doing nothing but further provoking him. "Your presence is required at the small council meeting after breakfast."
"So go on my behalf!" Joffrey snapped, ripping the blanket from his head. She could make out his remarkable, youthful features and bedhead under the thick shaded canopy.
Cersei let out an exasperated sigh, he's going to be in a bad mood all day. Her impatience was beginning to gnaw at her. "It is your duty as the king, to attend," she insisted.
"I feel ghastly," Joff moaned as he tried to sit up, clutching his head.
"Just as I anticipated. You drank far too much last night," she said evidently. She recalled the night before when she watched helplessly as he grew more belligerent by the hour, downing one cup after another of strong, dark wine. "Come, my dear. I'll run you a bath.
She then tugged open the dark velvet curtains defending his bed so the light could flood in. She heard him groan again behind her and flop back into the blankets, as she crossed the room to poke her head into the hallway and command one of the guards that always remained planted beside Joffrey's door.
"Send for hot, herbal tea to the king's private quarters, now. Tell them it's urgent," she instructed firmly, then shut the door behind her.
"Up, Joffrey," said Cersei, casting an impatient glare over her shoulder at him, as she minced over to his unnecessarily enormous, walk-in wardrobe.
She came back with a lavish black garment, trimmed with gold, and his bathrobe of the finest mulberry silk.
After getting the robe on, Joffrey followed his mother into his royal master bathroom.
Like most other of the other rooms, it was gold and decorated with expensive vases, angelic armor, swords, and shields hanging on the walls, and a beautiful view from every window, no matter where you were in the royal wing. There was a large stained glass window, a beautiful, religious, yet violent depiction, following an alignment of ornate stone carved windows adorning most of the walls in the Red Keep. Salted wind from the bay frequently carried in, slipping through the cracks, the most refreshing feeling on a hot summer's day.
Two handmaids enter the room with boiling water, towels, and fine soap. Joffrey waited with obvious impatience as the servants removed the lids from the heavy pots and hot steam poured out, diffusing into the air. They filled the round tub of solid gold to the very brink with the scalding water, and when they were finished, Cersei demanded they leave at once.
Joffrey stripped completely bare, carelessly dropping his robe to the floor sending Cersei's gaze straight out the window, to fix on the glittering bay. She heard him hiss through clenched teeth as he lowered, himself into the hot, seething water.
"Too hot for you?" she turned back to face him, her gaze daring to sweep over his toned shoulders and chest, poking out of the water. His body is the spitting image of Jaime's, at this age, she improperly thought, prompting distant teenage memories from the depths of her subconscious.
There was a sudden knock on the door, causing Joffrey to jump and pulling Cersei from her unsettling thoughts.
"Herbal tea for his grace," the familiar muffled voice of a handmaid called from behind the door.
Cersei answered it, and returned, to perch on the edge of the tub clutching the fine china.
"I hate herbal tea," Joffrey complained. "And it's too hot in here."
"You want to feel better, do you not?" urged Cersei, as she set down the china teacup on the golden rim of the tub. She dipped her fingers to test the water, only to find it was so hot it stung her skin, even just for that brief moment.
He glared at her through the steam, his cheeks had significantly reddened from the hot water, somehow reminding her of his younger, childhood days. It was a look that carried an innocent, boyish glow, and it just tugged on the queen's heart.
"I'm sorry, Joff-"
"It's fine," he scoffed before she could continue, his cold voice snapping her back to reality.
"Are you aware of what we plan to discuss at the meeting today?" She began.
"No. Enlighten me. Please," he sneered.
"We are discussing the matters regarding your wedding, and Sansa Stark," she explained, noticing the flash of angst cross Joff's face, "and what exactly shall be done with the girl at this time.
"What do you mean 'done with her'?" Joffrey's tone was strained and high.
"Well, I told her that we are arranging for her to marry someone else but perhaps we could send her back to Winterfell?" the queen regent suggested, but the sudden look of terror on her son's face implied that was out of the question.
"Have you gone mad, woman?!" he bristled. "Her father was a horrible traitor who is now thankfully dead. No one is left for her. She's my prisoner," his tone was diabolical, yet still juvenile at the same time.
"We cannot simply just hold her as a prisoner, it's unlawful," Cersei objected.
"Yes, I am aware," he groaned.
"Then what do you suggest we do with her?" She challenged.
"I haven't decided yet. Regardless, I want her here in King's Landing, she could be useful."
Useful? How could she possibly be any use to you? Haven't you tortured the poor girl enough? Cersei furrowed her brows as she fiddled with a small vile of vanilla bath oil. She finally popped the cork out, pouring the lavish soap into the tub. The sweet rich aroma of vanilla and nutmeg pleasantly filled the steamy air and cut through her nostrils.
"Hmm," Joffrey stared at her in thought, his striking blue eyes reminding her of an angel. She assessed his superior Lannister facial features, and found herself silently thanking the gods for was a blessing with such a perfect, golden child.
"Perhaps she could serve as a handmaid in the meantime? Just while I'm deciding what to do with her," he suggested.
"Oh, Joff, now that's just cruel," although Cersei's words seemed to disagree, her dark smile did not.
"She should consider herself lucky I haven't had her killed yet," he glowered.
"Yes, but a handmaid? The girl was to be a queen only days ago."
"I don't care! She will be my servant and if she wants to live, there will be no other way!" Joffrey declared, suddenly fastened to this hasty idea.
Cersei merely smirked at his words, praying to the gods for this go over smoothly with the small council.
"As you wish my love," Cersei's permitting tone did little to please him, as he scoffed again, sarcastically. She continued anyway. "It seemed as though just days ago you were quite fond of her."
"No! You're smarter than this," his edgy tone seized her breath. "I wasn't fond of her at all. In fact, she was rather obnoxious," rasped Joffrey, "I was purely fond of having a bride."
Part of Cersei already knew this and she realized it as the words drew from his tongue. But then again, he said she was 'useful.' Sometimes, she had no idea what was going through his head. She had an odd feeling he was up to something.
She recognized he seemed much happier these past few days with his new betrothed. But why shouldn't he? Margaery was very beautiful and in a different way than Sansa. She was older, more developed. Cersei wasn't going to pretend she didn't notice the perfect body on her son's new queen. She was, however, going to pretend she wasn't envious of the youth and beauty the Highgarden girl carried, but most importantly the attention she gained from Joffrey.
It drove Cersei mad, solely by the fact that another woman possessed such power over her boy, using her body as a weapon and his sexual inexperience to her advantage. Yes, it ate away at her, but she was forced to accept it. There was no other way. He was growing up and there wasn't a single thing she could do to stop it. She fretted over this day to come, how it haunted her for such a long time, and finally, it had arrived. Just like many mothers before she was struggling to give her son away to another woman, however, Cersei had such an inseparable bond with her boy, her prized possession, her perfect, golden little lion cub that could do no wrong, she found it nearly impossible to let him go. However, she deeply wanted him to be happy, which he had been since the establishment of his engagement. She had to encourage his love for her, in order to be a good mother, she must, and more importantly in order to keep a pristine relationship with Joffrey, She would rule as the queen regent while Margaery ruled with the king as the queen consort. Even if she wasn't very fond of this girl she must pretend to be.
Joffrey suddenly snatched up the china teacup, drawing Cersei from her deep thought.
He gingerly took a sip of the steaming tea, and she wondered if between the hot bath and hot tea it might be too much for him.
"How is it?" she searched his eyes, hoping for satisfaction, but expecting displeasure, knowing her son well.
"S'alright," he said half-heartedly with a wince, setting it back down to the plate.
Cersei's thoughts drew back to Sansa when suddenly a brilliant idea crossed her mind. Instead of being a handmaid, perhaps Sansa could be a lady-in-waiting and attend Lady Margaery. If Joffrey wasn't going to let the little dove fly home, at least give her a job that wasn't completely degrading. She would serve as a court lady, and perhaps she might smile for once. Cersei wanted to discuss this with Joffrey, but she was highly unsure of how he would react. She decided to ponder the decision for a few days and speak with an adviser about it before addressing the king on the issue.
Suddenly there was another knock on the door, much softer this time. "Bath assistance?" a female's muffled voice sounded from behind the steel door.
"No," Cersei groaned.
"Yes!" Joffrey bleated, sending his mother an impatient glare.
The king's words were smartly obeyed, as the young servant girl entered the room, carrying a pile of cloth and towels.
Cersei refrained from rolling her eyes as the girl settled on the edge of the tub, to douse a small black cloth with soap.
"May I, your grace?" she asked Joffrey politely.
He nodded and Cersei watched protectively, through piercing green eyes and as the girl began to gently scrub the king's right arm, she seemed to tremble under the queen's deathly glare.
"Oh," something seemed to cross Joffrey's mind, his striking blue eyes met his mother's with sudden interest. "I haven't forgotten the events of last night. I want the hideous, little imp punished at once."
"What do you suggest?" Cersei agreed promptly, casting another scornful glare at the handmaid massaging her son's shoulders with soap.
Joffrey sighed with pleasure, as the girl seemed to press on a tense area of muscle. "I'll think of something." His eyes fluttered shut and leaned further back into her palms.
"We are discussing your wedding ceremony at the small council meeting after breakfast, Joff," she reminded him of where his thoughts should be. "Do you have any ideas for the wedding? Shall it be traditional?"
His big blue eye opened with glowing interest as she mentioned his wedding. "It will be big," he vowed, quite vaguely, gazing out the window at the sparkling Blackwater Bay thoughtfully, as the handmaid gently brushed his chest with the hot cloth.
Cersei imagined the glorious roar of millions, from all over Westeros come to see the king of the seven kingdoms, her little cub, wed a queen. She had to admit it was going to be too surreal.
When she broke from her daze, she noticed the servant girl's hand traveling down his abdomen with a cloth. Rage seethed below her surface as this dirty, filthy whore touched her boy, but instead of exploding, she simply cast Joffrey an unsettled glare, who hardly did anything to react. He didn't seem to mind either of one of the women, as he was still in his own daydream, gazing out at the bay.
As the servant's fingers crept lower, Cersei couldn't tolerate it.
"That's enough," her tone was sharp as a blade.
The young handmaid jumped away from the king as if he was scalding hot. Her wide, apologetic gaze met the queen regent.
"Your grace, I-"
"You are dismissed," the queen's fierce, feline eyes glistened like chrysoberyl gems.
She watched as the girl clambered to her feet, clumsily, and rushed out the door without another word.
"What is in the seven hells is wrong with you, woman?" Joffrey demanded, his sounding very much like his late father, King Robert.
"I didn't want that filthy whore to touch you," Cersei admitted, her gaze still piercing.
"You are ridiculous," jeered Joffrey, rolling his eyes, then sank his head back into the water to wet his blonde hair.
Cersei considered whether she was actually being absurd or not.
"I suppose you'll explode at my wedding ceremony as well when I kiss my queen?"
Cersei reddened at his words with shame, it occurred to her that perhaps she was being overbearingly protective.
Suddenly he was rising out of the water, the steam radiating of his glistening skin.
"Of course not," she said, casting her gaze away as she passed him his towel.
"Hm."
"In fact, I'm quite excited to see an heir from the two of you," Cersei said, turning back once he was in his silk bathrobe.
Joffrey raised his eyebrows, followed a smug, egotistical smirk, "Good."
She smiled back falsely, and she didn't want to admit it but she knew, deep down, a part of her actually did want this.
As the sun began to melt along the horizon, Margaery made her way down the deep amber, glowing halls on her way to dine with the royal family. This evening, she wore a long drape of fine blue silk, that flowed in streams behind her. The fabric wrapped around her perfectly, accentuating her curves and exposing her fair skin in all the right places.
She was trembling with excitement as she nearly reached the dining hall, when suddenly she spotted Sansa trudging ahead, carrying what looked to be a stack of clothing.
"Lady Sansa," Margaery called, the sound of her delicate voice echoed down the ornate hall.
The Stark girl stopped by a wall torch and glanced over her shoulder, giving a look of despair.
"Sansa," Margaery said again, starting towards her. "What's the matter? Is everything alright?"
"No!" Sansa cried, whirling around, startling her. "Everything is terrible and it just keeps getting worse." Her cerulean eyes glistened with tears, tugging on Margaery's heart.
She didn't quite know how to react. She frowned at the poor girl, trying to make sense of what possibly could have happened.
Past Sansa, was a beautiful view of the setting sun, overlooking the luxurious city. The skies were vibrant shades of purple, pink, and orange blurring together in harmony. The golden view of paradise seemed all too incongruous when her gaze returned to Sansa, the innocent little lamb on the verge of falling apart. This perfect city was tearing her apart, limb from limb. You must be a strong Sansa. It's the only way to survive this game of thrones.
Margaery fixed on the folded clothes Sansa clutched as she sobbed, noticing the apron at the top of the rumbled stack.
"What are these clothes for, Sansa?" Margaery inquired, touching her arm gently, in an attempt to comfort her.
"They've made me a servant!" she spluttered miserably, then burst into a flurry of tears.
"What?" Margaery rasped, confusion and sympathy twisting through her. For a split moment, she thought she may have misheard Sansa. How could this happen? Just earlier this morning the girl was talking of arrangments to marry another member of the royal family. "I-I don't understand. How could this be?"
"They do whatever they want! They don't know of sympathy, and they have never played by the rules!" Sansa exclaimed, trembling with tears and upset.
"Lower your voice," Margaery hissed, seizing the girl's wrist, leading her further down the corridor into the shadows. Sansa's cries abruptly ceased and she met the older girl's glare with helpless eyes. "Your words are treasonous. You want to live, do you not?"
"I do! I want to live," she wailed.
"Sansa, please collect yourself," Margaery urged gently as she released her, her patience never wearing thin with Sansa's emotional storm. "You cannot say such things. We are in the Red Keep. The walls have ears."
This seemed to cool Sansa down, as she nodded, wiping the tears from her eyes with the long velvet sleeve of her dress.
"Margaery please," She quivered once she finally caught her breath, the tears had finally ceased, "You can't let them do this!" her voice was still desperate and pained.
The poor girl looked so upset, Margaery made a mental note not to fall out of line. One wrong move could change everything. There was nothing she could do to help, she had no control over the king, nor his mother's decisions.
"It's not in my hands, Sansa. You must understand. I would help you if I could," Margaery insisted but Sansa was determined.
"Please, my lady," she begged. "Can't you speak to the king about it? You have a way with words."
Margaery sighed, considering the trouble she might get herself into if she were to challenge her betrothed's decision. But Sansa's imploring sapphire eyes ate away at her.
"I will think about it," She agreed halfheartedly and Sansa's face gleamed with delight, but Margaery spoke quickly before she could get too excited. "But I must go now or I will be late. We can speak about this later."
"Thank you so much, Lady Margaery!" Sansa cried gratefully, suddenly her velvet arms were around her, hugging her tightly. She smelled like an actual rose. "I am forever in your debt."
It's good to have a friend here, Margaery thought, hugging her back, embracing the distant feeling of someone's arms around her. She hadn't felt such contact since she lived in Highgarden with her old friends and immediate family.
"I can't make any promises," Margaery replied, they stayed hugging for a few long heartbeats before stepping away.
"Where are you off to this evening, anyway?" Sansa asked as Margaery started off down the hall.
"Dinner," she retorted whirling back around, smiling slyly as she continued, "with the king," then she was off, followed by a wave of flowing blue silk and chestnut curls.
What Margaery didn't see what the somber, longing gaze Sansa cast after her.
There was a fit of female laughter, echoing down the hall, upon Margaery's arrival to the dining room. She was surprised to see the dining table more vacant than the night before. The only people seated, around the feast were, a very bored Prince Tommen, two court ladies intently listening to and fussing over Ser Jaime who was telling a gruesome battle story, and her beloved King Joffrey of course, who sat slumped back as usual, wine lazily rolling in his hand, listening to his uncle's story with dubious amusement. The fireplace was lit and the flames danced and crackled, casting shadows on the dark evening walls. The air was cursed with a layer of smoke from the pipe that hung from Jaime's mouth.
She stopped before the table, and everyone looked over at her at the same time. She didn't cower. She didn't even think about it.
"You've finally arrived, my lady," Joffrey spoke first, his high voice always excited when addressing her. His hungry eyes met Margaery's, and it amazed her how easily just a certain look from him made her core ache.
"Take a seat," Joffrey motioned to the empty chair beside him, his diamond rings glittering in the firelight.
Margaery obeyed without hesitation, as Jaime continued his story, she settled into the musky haze of cologne and pipesmoke, beside Joffrey, and suddenly they were very close. Her heart seemed to beat faster as he fixed on her, assessing her beauty. He looked delicious, and she found herself longing to be intimate with him, imagining the moment they finally got to kiss, and she wondered what he would taste like.
She wondered what exactly it was that had her so addicted to him. Perhaps it was his endless power and dominance that was so attractive, or perhaps it was the obscene amount of money. Or maybe it was his angelic features or expensive scent. It may be all these things, or it may be none of these things at all. Margaery felt deep down, the truth may be, that it was the devil in him that made him so irresistible. His arrogant smirk and cruel words were somehow feeding into the attraction. It was as if she was under his spell, perhaps. How could he be so bad, that he's good? She asked herself a million times. Oh, how he had glamorized the idea of evil.
"You look well this evening," His eyes were like electric as they drew to hers at once, and she felt her stomach flutter.
At this time, Margaery thought back to all the boys in Highgarden who had showered her with compliments and gifted her flowers and sweets. She recalled their strong muscles and beautiful smiles, and the way the would go on to tell her all the impossible things they would do for her. She would blush, thank them, maybe laugh a bit, but not a single one of them compared to the way Joffrey made her feel. Her king would say some nice things sometimes, but the thing about him that stuck with her was the way he would look at her. His gaze was powerful and made her feel small and a bit helpless, but she was actually addicted to this feeling. It was quite a change for once. Margaery had always been a clever one, she had a way with words, and people didn't scare her often. She had a sharp tongue and a quick mind, and it seemed that she could always think of something to say. Since she could remember, she had felt naturally superior in every conversation—except when talking to Joffrey. It was obvious, with him, she had to choose her words wisely, and she loved a challenge. She had never felt this kind of energy from anyone and it struck her. She was obsessed with this feeling and she was never going to give it up. She was determined to keep him satisfied with her, no matter what.
"You're quite tempting, yourself, your grace," Margaery boldly decided to say, lowering her voice to a quiet, tender tone, and just by the expression change on his face, she could tell that's not what he was expecting her to say at all. She loved throwing him off.
He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it, unable to react.
"Thank you," he finally mumbled, blush taunting his cheeks.
It was apparent that no other girl had talked to him this way before, and Margaery was having quite some fun with this. It was easy to forget his age, given the way he carried himself, but he was still a boy, after all.
"And I sent my blade straight through his heart!" Jaime bellowed, suddenly drawing the two from this intimacy, "and twisted-" Jaime made exaggerated, drunken twisting motions for the two court ladies that were listening so intently. "When I drew my sword out, he fell to his knees, the life gushing out of him, from the hole in his chest plate!"
"Oh, how strong and powerful you are, Ser Jaime," one of the girls, the blonde one, swooned over him, and Margaery exchanged a glance with Joffrey.
"Oh, sweet Lady Lucinda," The king addressed her with a mocking tone.
She looked over, her blue eyes were big and doe-like, "Yes, your grace?"
"You and —what's your name?" he blinked at the other one, some impatience haunting his tone.
"Lady Blair, your grace," said the girl with long black hair.
"How could you forget?" Jaime chimed in, winking at her, "she's an absolute doll."
The girl flushed scarlet, but she didn't say anything.
"Lady Lucinda and Lady Blair are your personal court ladies," Joffrey conveyed to Margaery. "They will attend your needs and keep you company when I'm not around."
Margaery nodded at them with a polite smile, showing her pretty white teeth. "Thank you, your grace."
"Oh, it will be so much fun, my lady!" Lucinda squealed, her jewelry jingled as she clapped excitedly. "We'll exchange gossip, and I'll brush your hair."
"Yes, I'm looking forward to it," Margaery replied, her demeanor so relaxed and cool compared to the other girl. She was good at making friends and liked to be social. She was very popular back in Highgarden, even before becoming their queen.
When Jaime began pompously rambling on again about his strength and skills, to the two court ladies, Joffrey turned to Margaery with a questionable smirk, his dimples seizing her heart.
"Wine, my lady?" He asked too sweetly. The air suddenly shifting between them, the hot flames casting shadows grew more pronounced, they seemed to burn her heart. The clean, rich scent of his cologne reminded her of smoky wood and fresh leather, and it grew stronger suddenly, and she realized he had gotten closer to her.
"I am a bit thirsty," she replied suggestively, "your grace."
His blue eyes blinked in response, seeming to consider her words for a moment, as a coy smile tugged on her the corner of her mouth.
"Wine at once for my queen!" He was suddenly shouting down the table at a servant, causing not only Margaery to jump in her seat, but waking up the little prince, who had fallen asleep in his dinner.
One servant went to assist Tommen off to bed, while the other hurried over with a golden jug and filled Margaery's chalice up with wine. She brought the goblet to her lips, inhaling the bitter, sharp scent before taking a sip.
Joffrey seemed uninterested with his wine, not at all like the night before. Instead, his focus was on Margaery. She noticed the flicker of interest in his eyes when he watched her eyes, and her mouth, and the way she moved. When he thought she wasn't looking she would catch his eyes on her bust. Her stomach fluttered just imagining the things that might be going through his mind. She couldn't wait to show him what she could do.
Jaime had brought the two women to the far end of the room to show them a shelf of fine, aged wine. Why doesn't he just take them back to his room already?
"Margaery," Joffrey suddenly said in a hushed tone, after some silence between them. Her eyes returned to him, watching his sharp teeth as he spoke. "Do you remember what we talked about last night?" there was frantic excitement in his lowered voice that reminded her of his age. She thought back to last night, and excitement of her own stirred in her stomach when she recalled their plans to meet by his chambers.
"Yes, my king," her bright eyes glistened in the firelight.
"I've thought about it and changed my mind," when he said this, her heart sank as the disappointment twisted through her. "There are too many guards in the private royal wing. We must meet in the garden."
Relief washed over her in a colossal wave, and the life seemed to spring back into her eyes. "Smart thinking, your grace," she fawned.
"Meet me just before midnight. At the lion statue," he instructed, his voice eager and his eyes wide as if he had been waiting to speak of this since she walked in. "Tell no one you are meeting me."
"I'll be there, your grace," she said in a sweet tone, hardly above a whisper. Her chin was in her palm and she leaned over the table, gazing slightly upwards, into his eyes, under the thick dark wing of her lashes.
"Joffrey," he said, taking her by surprise. "I want you to call me Joffrey."
A sense of accomplishment stole through her, but she remained relaxed, offering a grateful smile.
"Alright, Joffrey," she said in her usual, sensual way. Butterflies stirred in her stomach at the sound of her addressing him by his first name. It feels so intimate, she thought, allowing her hand to slide over the table to make contact with him.
It was like electric when her dainty fingers gently brushed the expensive silk of his sleeve, caressing his arm tenderly. Though his eyes never left hers, he tensed under her unfamiliar touch, but she continued anyhow, and he didn't seem entirely bothered by it.
Just as he was beginning to get comfortable with the feeling of her fingers rubbing his arm, she leaned in, closer, to make sure he could smell her floral perfume, and maybe even a glimpse down her dress, murmuring, "I can't wait to be alone with you, Joffrey," her voice soft and risqué.
This made him smile, with excitement and...something else. What is that expression? She expected him to blush, but this time, there was a ravenous look in his eyes that admittedly frightened her a bit. However, this fear somewhat faded and her confidence relatively returned when she reassured herself that she is the queen (or will be), and she can handle anything. She told herself she shouldn't be intimated by such a younger boy, even if he was the king, but something about the way he smiled at her, the way his eyes flashed wildly, stuck with her the rest of dinner and even on the way back to her own chambers.
Late at night, when the castle was quiet and dark, with the only light being the dim flickering wall lanterns' flame, Margaery stole through the corridors, managing to remain undetected by the patrolling guards. Even if she were to be caught, she had a story she had decided on. I was just going to take a walk in the garden and get some fresh air.
She had changed into a different dress, this one a simple, yet elegant lace, flowing white dress, making her look so angelic she could have been an apparition. She moved through the hallways quietly before slipping through the door, without making a sound.
Margaery descended down the palace steps into the twilight and was overwhelmed by the beauty of the blooming garden in the moonlight. The night was black as ink, the last of the sun had long melted away, beckoning the endless scatter of stars to dance in clusters and streaks.
What a romantic night, she thought, as she headed down the winding path, gazing up at the full moon against the nightfall. She followed the twisted rose thickets and vines, moving in a flow of milk-white like a spirit in the gloom.
Her gracious flow came to a halt when the grand lion statue came into view, her stomach fluttering with nervous excitement. This was the only place that she had ever been alone with him. There remarkable energy in this air, it held some kind of magic aura.
She reached the fountain and took a seat on the ledge to wait for the king. Her gaze wandered back to the castle which seemed to be more distant than it actually was. Looking at it from afar truly made her appreciate her the perfect life she had been blessed with. It all seemed too good to be true. About twenty paces away, under the scarlet oak, Joffrey appeared from around the other side of some shrubbery, his black garb dark as midnight.
Margaery got to her feet and started after him, her skirts pooling around her like a white iris. Excitement stirred through her; I have to touch him, she thought with strange urgency, fixing on his shadowy figure. When they finally met, she squeezed his cold hands gently.
He was perfect under the nightfall, the moon and stars making his platinum hair gleam like polished ivory. He smelled rich and clean, of expensive soap and wine. He always looks so good, she tried not to swoon over the young, blonde king but failed miserably when he brought her dainty hand to his meet soft lips, and honored her with a charming kiss, sending stomach into a whirl.
A blush touched not only her cheeks, but his too, and it occurred to her that this may be one of the first times he's tried that on a girl.
"Are you well?" he spoke first, his voice was serious.
"I am now," she spoke warmly against his tone, beaming at him, confident she was ravishing under the starlight.
She realized they were still holding hands, when he squeezed her gently, sending her stomach into a flurry. Even just the minor contact had gotten her wound up, and she craved more intimacy between them, so she decided to move their conversation along, in hopes she might receive what she's looking for.
"I've longed for your touch, my king," she said, eyeing Joffrey under her lashes.
"You think of me often?" his tone jumped with excitement, and she met his striking eyes. They seemed to glow in the dark.
"All day, my love. I even dream of you in the night," she gushed.
"What of me?" He edged on, thirsty for more.
Margaery held onto his question for a teasing moment, her focus was still on his hands.
"Your skin is so soft," she said, debatably off topic.
"My skin?" his voice was anxious.
She didn't give him time to think about it.
"You want to know the things I think of you, Joffrey?" she continued, adoring his name on her tongue. "Mostly I dream of the many things I would do to please you."
He stared at her, unable to react, it seemed he just listened, his eyes flickering interest, yet his mouth remained tight line.
She wasn't sure why she was telling him this. However, after revealing a small bit to him, she suddenly found herself excited to confess more. Although he only displayed uncertainty, she knew he wanted to hear these things.
"A lot of times, I find myself imaging what it would be like to kiss you," admitted Margaery, continuing when her courage was at its peak. She had him all jumbled at this point. She could see in his eyes, he was trying to analyze her words but she spitting out compliments too quickly.
He stared at her for quite some time, his eyes seemed to grow darker and he took a step closer, his rich scent intensifying.
They had never been so close, with their faces only inches apart, Joffrey suddenly seemed to slip between her fingers, stealing the dominance in the blink of an eye.
His warm arm, caught her by surprise, lacing around her waist, squeezing her against him. The tension was burning her at this point.
"And what do you think it would be like to kiss me?" He queried in a low growl, his breath hot with every word.
Let's find out.
It seemed they had the same idea because, all too quickly, he closed the distance between their mouths, and the feeling of his soft, warm lips overtook her. She had never experienced a feeling of such ecstasy. Rapture tastes so sweet.
The feeling of his lips melted her, effortlessly. The kiss was not soft and lips did not brush together gently at first, unsure, as young teens might. They were both eager to finally snap the tight string of sexual tension between them. She could feel the hunger in his mouth as he kissed her. She had longed to taste him for some time, so with her heart beating fast, she parted her sweet, red lips for him, allowing him to slip his warm, sacred tongue into her mouth. The spot between her thighs stirred hotly with need in response to him squeezing her hips tightly, gripping her with his fingers. She could feel the dominance and passion seeth below his pounding chest and seize her.
"Joffrey," she gasped hotly into his mouth, and his name was so arousing to say, her core throbbed with lust. This encouraged him to grow rougher with her, knowing now what she was comfortable with.
His hands roughly gripped her round ass, squeezing her until she gasped, her tongue still in his hot mouth. I must have more of him now, was the only thirsty thought controlling her, but suddenly she realized she shouldn't get too carried away, she had to be smart and allow him to take the lead. He liked to be in control. And she was going to let him be, for now.
She was slammed up against a nearby tree, and for a brief moment, as they moved, she could make out his hallowed, fair features that glowed like white quartz in the moonlight. He gathered her wrists in his tight grip, pinning them over her head, against the trunk. She felt so vulnerable and delicate beneath his powerful grip, and at times like this Margaery feels that age is just a number. It was so hot, the way he was kissing her, with such force; the feeling of his soft, warm, wet lips grazing down her jaw and throat, triggering goosebumps to pucker across her sensitive skin. Butterflies swarmed in her stomach, and she leaned her head back to look up through the branches at the stars with dreamy eyes, her mind dazed as the intense feeling of lust overtook her body in unbeatable waves.
"Look at me," he breathed hotly against her neck, the feeling sending chills through her body. Her heart was racing, and her eyes glittered like diamonds in the moon's luminance, as they fluttered back his meet his starved gaze.
His beauty never failed to astound her. She took in his sharp youthful features, hardly visible in nightfall but still so breathtaking. The branches above cast dark shadows over his fair complexion, feeding his ominous, sinister identity, however, with a gentle breeze, the tree swayed, and fragments of moonbeams shimmered through the bowing, gnarled branches, revealing his angelic, pure appearance. A blur of moonlight flickered in his haunting blue eyes, so flawless and hypnotizing. He was a fallen angel.
"Do you like it rough my, sweet Margaery," suddenly he was growling in her ear, the tingling feeling somehow reaching the small of her back.
Before she could answer, he snatched her jaw in a tight grip and was leaning into her mouth again, pushing her harder against the tree. The bark was rough and uncomfortable and scraped the exposed skin of her shoulders, but she didn't care. Instead, she focused on the feeling of his warm, clean body rubbing against her in all the right spots, and the bitter, distinct taste of wine, heavy on his greedy tongue, as it moved over her's. She anticipated he couldn't wait to get his hands on her as well.
Joffrey let go of her jaw to seize her thigh, with a firm, possessive grip, fueling the craving, wanting feeling in her stomach that was driving her mad. The aching sensation between her thighs was growing unbearable, and she moaned into his mouth as his fingers inched closer to her sweet spot. She had to feel him there, she needed him to fill her throbbing core. Her lust took control of her, and she pressed her hips against him for release, allowing some pressure against her crotch.
As she leaning all her weight into Joffrey's front, she could feel a taunting hardness stirring beneath his garment. Margaery finally got a taste of the sweet release she desired. A faint, boyish gasp escaped his lips at the sudden contact. For some reason, this seemed to irritate him, she could tell, as he abruptly, he drove her harder against the tree, gripping her wrists with frenzied strength.
"I'm going to fuck you bloody," he hissed violently in her ear, and she fought the urge to shudder under his fiendish tone.
"Do it," Margaery challenged boldly, daring to maintain his icy gaze.
His mouth slammed into her again, hungrily kissing her, and she gasped the sudden sharp pain of him biting her bottom lip. His sharp teeth must have broken through her flesh because at that moment she started to taste the unmistakable coppery tang of blood.
She wanted Joffrey to fuck her so badly, but a small voice in her head reminded her the bride of a king must be virgin. It shouldn't matter if it was he, who had deflowered me, should it? No of course not, but those are the rules. Maybe we could do it and say we didn't? It would be easy to keep a secret, and it would be fun to sneak around together before the wedding.
Suddenly, in the black of nightfall, she spotted a flaming torch, approaching from hardly a distance, and a sense of panic fled through her. It must have shown on her face because Joffrey turned to see what she was gaping at. He peered into the dark and she gripped his arm nervously.
"Joffrey," she breathed, and he quickly unraveled from her.
"It's a guard," he whispered with irritation. "I'll handle this, you go back to your chambers."
She was reluctant to leave him, her feet seemed unwilling to move. She stared into his blue eyes for just a few more heartbeats. This had been such a magical, intimate night, she was pained to see it come to such an abrupt end.
Hesitantly she tore herself from her spot, and stole off into the garden, back towards her chambers. Even though she wanted to, she didn't look back. Instead, she picked her way through the maze of rose thickets, still dizzy with lust, following the seemingly endless path, winding through the garden.
As she neared the castle, she gazed up at the romantic moon one last time, the taste of blood still on her lip made her heart flutter as the thought of him crossed her mind.